


Stop that cat, he stole my phone!

by kittymsmith



Series: Random Snippets that are Hopefully Funny of Two Dorks In Love: Sherlock and Molly [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Molly had a long shift, Sherlock pays 80 quid for underwear because he's posh like that, Sherlock was trying to be a good boyfriend, Toby the cat decided to change that, Toby the cat is an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 11:09:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16973499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymsmith/pseuds/kittymsmith
Summary: In which Molly wakes up after several very late shifts to Toby the cat leading Sherlock on a cacophonous chase through her house. Sherlock won't give up the chase because he (stupidly) doesn't have a case on the phone and Toby won't give back the phone because he's a cat, and cats are dicks.Molly to the rescue.





	Stop that cat, he stole my phone!

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know exactly what pair of underwear Sherlock is wearing in this fic: https://us.dolcegabbana.com/en/men/clothing/underwear-and-socks/printed-briefs-majolica-print-M3A00JFS715HAP63.html?cgid=men-apparel-underwear#page=4&start=83
> 
> Fun fact: in the show Sherlock/Cumberbatch is literally wearing mostly Dolce&Gabanna shirts. I know this is pretty common knowledge with a lot of people in this fandom (or seems to) but if you're relatively new like me-now you know! So when dressing Sherlock I generally go with that brand or anything else that makes me want to scream at the price. 
> 
> Enjoy, lovelies!

“Stop that cat, he stole my phone!”

Sherlock shouted this seconds before Molly felt four little feet run over her, followed by the torso of a full grown man dropping on her back, knocking the wind out of her, which then quickly scrambled over her and tumbled onto the hardwood. She didn’t open her eyes because she wanted desperately for what she was imagining was happening to not be happening. Skittering claws followed by thumping feet preceded a crash. She cracked one eye open and slowly sat up. Another crash followed by cursing. _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph_. Due to an unfortunate accident that led to a lot of bodies needing autopsies, she’d had a rare event of three consecutive shifts that lasted long into the night, until five in the morning, actually. Sherlock had been spending the night and awake, because Sherlock, and had been angelically quiet.

Now she wasn’t sure if she’d kill the cat or him first.

She wrapped herself in a dressing gown-his, she realized, and shuffled down the hall to the main room of the house, encompassing both the kitchen, living, and dining. Sherlock was standing on the dining table and reaching towards Toby’s shelf, where he was perched with an iPhone in his mouth-no case, because Sherlock was a moron. Every time he reached Toby swiped at his hand. “Come on, you blasted feline!” Sherlock leaned and went for a quick swipe, getting scratched and reeling back with a yelp, sucking the back of his hand. “This is why I don’t like cats! You’re all dicks!”

 _Like you_ , Molly thought, not without affection. “Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked over. “Oh, sorry, love.”

“He just wants the chase,” she yawned, “leave him be. He’ll put it down.”

“He tried to _drop it_ in the _toilet_.” He whined, stupidly trying for the phone again and getting another scratch. Molly leaned against the post in the kitchen island, pulling the dressing gown up around her ears and breathing deeply. It smelled of Sherlock’s cologne – tobacco, spice, and something else that was so earthen but refined and clear-and aftershave. It almost lulled her back to sleep. Toby suddenly leaped from his shelf to the table-a long jump, but executed well for a chubby tabby-and then ran towards the front door. Sherlock leaped from the table, shaking the whole house and in the process waking Molly up more, and gave chase. Toby slipped out the cat door. Sherlock did a sliding leap-again, shaking the entire goddamn house-his hand flying out the door but evidently missing the cat.

“Damn it all!” He scrambled to his feet and grabbed the doorknob, flinging open the door.

Meera, Molly’s chatty neighbor and friend, looked confused, then alarmed when she saw Sherlock in nothing but a pair of white Dolce&Gabbana briefs with the most obnoxious green vine and rose pattern possible on them. “U-uh, h-hi, Sherlock?”

“Meera.” He nodded then pushed past her, Molly quickly shuffling over, “pardon me, the cat’s stole my phone.”

“The-the what?” She looked at Molly as she came to the door. “What’s going on?”

“Toby’s stolen his phone.” Molly would have had the grace to be embarrassed if she wasn’t half asleep.

“Um…” Meera turned around and they both watched Sherlock chase Toby back and forth in the front yard a moment, many a passerby slowing their cars to make sure they were seeing all this right. “I’ll…come back some other time, then?”

“Please.”

Meera nodded and slowly walked down the steps, opened the gate, and left. Sherlock was getting his underwear all dirty- _god, it cost eighty quid and he’s chasing a cat in it, what the hell is Sherlock Holmes?-_ and all Molly wanted was for Toby to give up and hand over the phone. He wasn’t usually like this-he and Sherlock actually got along. But for whatever reason on the day Molly had just gotten over her worst possible shifts was the day he decided to be a dickhead. He ran up the tree in the yard, a smallish oak. Sherlock tried to pursue, but after a few branches one gave out and he just about broke his ass on the solid October earth. “Tobias I _hate you_!” He shouted while flopping onto his side, holding his arse. Toby had gotten up into some of the tallest branches and just stared down, phone still in mouth.

Molly realized until the phone was surrendered, she would not get sleep. She felt an eye twitch. “Toby!” Her cat looked at her but did nothing. “Toby, you get down here!” She walked out now, far more awake than she ever bloody wanted to be. “Toby come on, now!”

Toby sat. Toby did not care. Toby was in trouble. So, so much trouble.

“I’ll call John. On your phone,” Sherlock said, staring up in defeat. “He’s small enough. Or wait till he drops it.”

There were no promises Sherlock wouldn’t just chase the damn cat all over kingdom come and break something in her house. There were no promises John wasn’t at the surgery or out of town. There were no promises that by the time the phone was dropped or John showed up that Molly would be able to go back to sleep at all. But right then, with a brain still half submerged in the depths of sleep and exactly one fuck left to give, Molly pulled off the dressing gown, leaving herself in her jim-jams, and tossed it at Sherlock. “I’m warning you, Toby.”

His tail swished.

She grabbed a branch. Sherlock looked concerned but was seemingly powerless to stop five feet one inch of pure sleep-depraved fury from hefting itself up into the tree and climbing towards the feline that seemed to slowly grasp the gravity of its situation. Toby climbed up a few more branches, but he was too chubby a kitty to go much further and had a mistress steadily pursuing. Molly had decided she’d kill the cat first.

Toby, seeming to realize this, dropped the phone soon as she was a foot or so below him. She caught it, shoved it in her pajama pants pocket, then snagged him by the scruff before he could scurry around the other side of the tree. She pointed at him severely. “Bad. Kitty.”

Toby might have gulped, or maybe it was just the sleep deprivation. She pulled him to her and supported him with one arm, slowly climbing down the tree one-handed. Near the bottom, she felt Sherlock’s hand on her foot, and let him help her to the ground. She marched straight into the house, sheepish boyfriend trailing, and locked Toby in the laundry room. She turned around, pulled out the phone and slapped it down into Sherlock’s hand. “There. There’s your damn phone.”

“T-thank you.” Sherlock looked down at it, then at her. “Are you angry with me?”

“I’m cross. Wouldn’t say angry.” She walked back towards her room. With the problem solved, the exhaustion had hit her shoulders again.  “Just keep the ruddy laundry door closed.”

“I, uh, will do.”

“Good.” Molly yawned and laid down, pausing a moment. “Give me your dressing gown.”

Sherlock blinked and slipped the gown off, taking his phone out of his pocket and moving to put it in his pocket-which he, of course, did not have being only in his underwear. He slipped in under the elastic band on his hip. Molly almost smiled. He draped the dressing gown over her, Molly happily snuggling down, and then pulled her blankets over her and whispered, "sleep well, sweets.”

“I had better.” She muttered, eyes already closed. Sherlock softly brushed her hair behind her ear and kissed her temple. This time she really couldn’t help it; she smiled.


End file.
